


Crawl Your Knees Off

by Liralen



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liralen/pseuds/Liralen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bar owner!Jensen gets jealous over pole dancer!Jared when another man tries to take what's his. Title and lyrics taken from the named song, "You've Seen the Butcher", by Deftones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawl Your Knees Off

The opening strains of "You've Seen the Butcher" filter through the speakers, the low thrum of the guitars building with each bar from a whisper to a growl. Jensen keeps his eyes fixed on the glass in his hands, measures out rum with unnecessary care and tells himself, the same way he always does this time of night, that this time he won't look up.  
  
Tonight, he holds out until Chino's smooth baritone purrs out the first line. 45 seconds. It's a new record.  
  
 _Don't wanna take it slow, I wanna take you home, and watch the world explode from underneath your glow..._  
  
He already knows what Jared's wearing: a thin white wife beater and the tightest, most threadbare pair of black jeans he can fit on his long legs. He knows because he helped Jared pull them on just minutes ago, fastening the row of buttons over the thick ridge of Jared's cock, tugging the wife beater down to cover the purpling bite mark on his chest. He already knows what he's going to see, but it still hits Jensen just as hard, the picture Jared makes as he throws himself into the routine: six and a half feet of lithe muscle and sweat-slicked bronze skin, wrapped around the pole like he's got joints in places other people don't. It's a simple costume, but Jared works it with confidence, a dark tease in his smile that brings to life fantasies of pretty boys in back alleys, and all manner of things for sale.  
  
Jensen can't help it then, the lingering path his gaze takes from the frayed cuffs of the jeans up those impossibly long legs, the broad, muscled expanse of Jared's chest, the strong column of his throat. Jared's hands are working under the shirt, inching it higher as he strokes over the slick plains of his stomach, his ribs. His thumb brushes a nipple, hard and pointed under the thin cotton, and Jensen's breath chokes on a groan as Jared's hips push up in response.  
  
"Any time you want to stop fondling the garnishes and serve that drink, man, I'm sure the customer would be happy."  
  
Jensen's ripped out of his thoughts, blinking dazedly at Chris. "Huh?" he asks intelligently. He glances down to find his hand in the large tray of maraschinos, rolling one of the plump red cherries between thumb and forefinger. He flushes and throws the cherry into the drink, pushes it distractedly across the bar at the waiting customer, ignoring Chris's smirk.  
  
"Shut the fuck up and start pouring, bitch, you're late." He tries to put some growl in it, but Chris just smiles wider and ties on an apron, voice even and amused.  
  
"Anything you say, boss man."  
  
 _You slowly enter, 'cause you know my room, and then crawl your knees off before you shake my tomb…_  
  
Jensen manages to keep his focus long enough to fix one of their more involved cocktails, hands deft and quick. When he looks up again Jared's on his knees at the edge of the stage, shirt long forgotten, the bare expanse of his chest glistening under the hot spotlight. His jeans are open and loose around his hips, a touch away from sliding down, and his back is bent into an impressive arch as an older man tucks money into his open fly.  
  
He's looking straight at Jensen, and when their eyes connect, the little fucker has the balls to wink.  
  
Despite himself, Jensen feels his mouth curve into a smirk that's more smile than he'd like. _Fucking tease_ he mouths, shaping the syllables deliberately, and he knows Jared gets it when the other man grins, slow and smugly satisfied. His mouth parts like he's going to reply, and then the looks freezes on his face and his attention snaps down to the man in front of him.  
  
Then guy's hand has disappeared completely into the open vee of Jared's jeans. Jared's forced a pleasant mask onto his face, but Jensen can see the strain in his smile and the tension in his shoulders as he leans closer to the man and murmurs something, fingers closing lightly around the guy's wrist.  
  
The man says something back, a drunk, leering grin curling his mouth that makes Jensen's jaw clench. Then he tips his head around and licks quick and sloppy over Jared's mouth, his hand flexing in Jared's grasp, and Jensen sees Jared go momentarily pale in shock.  
  
Jared is a very, very big boy, and there is little doubt that he could probably break the man's wrist with one sharp snap if he wanted to. Which he probably wouldn't, because maiming even the pushiest and crassest of customers is bad for business, but the point is: he's more than capable of taking care of himself. Jensen doesn't stop to think about that, though, because he's already vaulted over the bar, sending a flurry of half-full glasses crashing to the floor. In three strides he gets an arm around the guy's throat and jerks him back so hard and fast that his chair comes off its front two legs and balances precariously there, trembling as the guy thrashes against Jensen's body.  
  
"Get off—urk, what the fuck, get off me—" the guy chokes out.  
  
Jensen ignores him. "The rules of this establishment," he growls, loud enough that everyone at least at the same table can hear, "were clearly explained to you when you entered. You _look_. You may not _touch_."  
  
"I didn't—I was jus—"  
  
"And even if you could touch," Jensen continues, lower, meaner, his arm tightening around the thick neck until the man's face starts to turn red, "No. Means. _No_."  
  
The man jerks in his grip, maybe nodding, maybe just struggling for air. Jensen holds him there for another handful of seconds; then all at once he pushes him away, sending the chair crashing back down to all four legs, and straightens up. He meets Jared's eyes across from him, and he can't read the expression in them, doesn't have time as one of the club's bouncers jogs over.  
  
"Problem, boss?" Caleb asks.  
  
Jensen jerks his head at Mr. Grabby Hands, who's still trying to recover his breath. "Get this man out of here. Call him a cab; he's had way too much to drive. On us." He glances around the nearby tables, which have gone nearly silent. "And get all these nice people a round of fresh drinks on the house."  
  
The big bouncer makes some reply, but Jensen doesn't have time for it, already reaching for Jared's hand and dragging him into the back, down the hall, not to the dressing rooms, but to his own office.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Jensen," Jared huffs out in disbelief when the door closes behind them. "What the hell was that? That was, that was so—"  
  
"Reactive?" Jensen offers, rubbing his mouth with a tiny flinch. "Caveman-ish?"  
  
Jared laughs, breathless, an unsteady note in the sound. "Well, yeah," he agrees. "But also hot. I was gonna say really fucking hot."  
  
Jensen shoots his gaze up to meet Jared's eyes, surprised. They're dark and focused on him, and he feels a frisson of heat flare in his belly at the look. In two quick strides he's got Jared pinned to the door, wrists over his head, writhing and moaning under Jensen's kiss like it's what he needs to breathe.  
  
"Fucking _mine_ ," Jensen growls, biting at Jared's mouth, teeth tugging at the soft, pink shape of it. He rolls his hips against Jared, feels the hard press of the buttons on his open fly, and underneath, the hot swell of Jared's cock. Hard. Jared's hard for him, and Jensen presses his mouth to the other man's throat, tries to smother a pained noise.  
  
"Mine, mine," Jensen groans, letting go of Jared's wrists so he can pull Jared's jeans and thong down, fumbling at his own slacks until he's got them and his boxers shoved down to his thighs. Jared leaves his hands where Jensen put them, up above his head, fingers flexing when Jensen darts a glance at them, and the look in his eyes is so open and needy that Jensen's afraid he's going to come right there, just watching him.  
  
"Mine," Jensen says again, reaching between them to wrap his fist around Jared's cock. "No one else gets to touch you," he mumbles into Jared's neck, sucking kisses into the sweat-slicked skin as he strokes him, not gently, grip hard and demanding as he ruts against Jared's thigh. "Say it. Tell me."  
  
"No one else," Jared says, arching into Jensen's hand.  
  
"Say it _all_ ," Jensen demands, hand tightening until Jared gives a little cry, easing again.  
  
"No one—no one else gets to touch me," Jared repeats obediently. "Oh god, that's—Jen, that's good—"  
  
"Only me."  
  
"Only—only you."  
  
Jensen grunts in pleasure at the words, pulling back a little to lick sloppily at his hand before wrapping it clumsily around both of them. It feels so good, so hot and slick and soft against Jared's length, Jared's hips working against his hand with these little 'unh unh unh' noises that make Jensen feel crazy.  
  
"Say it again," he insists, weaving his free hand into Jared's hair and tugging his head back a little, nipping and licking at his throat. "Say you're mine. Say it, say it, say it."  
  
"Jensen, please—" Jared's breath spikes when Jensen rolls his thumb over the head of his cock. "Fuck, yours, oh I'm yours—oh fuck yeah—" His voice breaks on a whine as he tenses and then shudders apart in Jensen's hands, coming wet and messy all over both their bellies.  
  
"Yeah," Jensen breathes, finding Jared's mouth for a desperate, hungry kiss as pleasure uncoils and winds its way up his spine, pulsing hard as he spills over his own fist and against Jared's cock. He staggers a little, light-headed with it, and Jared's hands come down to steady him, arms wrapping around him and pulling him in. He presses his forehead to Jared's shoulder, panting, breath catching on every aftershock until he's worn-out and practically limp in Jared's hold.  
  
"Okay, that? Was pretty caveman." Jared's warm voice drifts down to him, distinctly amused.  
  
"Shuddup," Jensen slurs against his neck. "Should be thanking me. Totally saved you. Like a damsel in distress."  
  
"Yeah," Jared teases, but there's a note of fondness in his voice that he can't hide. "My hero."


End file.
